I think the great thing about getting married in our mid-late 30s is this really comfortable familial aspect. We are thrilled to let the kids run about the floor and create the sort of beautiful chaos I'll remember most: hollering their own brand of unbridled love in real time, spinning about in tiny tuxes and dresses and PJs, unbound by gender or social convention, making friends simply by chasing and hugging and laughing and dancing. This is a large echo of the kind of love by which I surround myself. The night is packed in earlier than 20-something wedding romps of alcohol and hook-ups. Just well wishes, good times, good friends, and conversation -- in the end, dulling the music to sit and chat with the last table of Geoff's friends, who welcome me in like their own.
Our ceremony is our unique blend of pure joy, awkwardness, and eschewing pomp and circumstance. Photos are just silly walks and beautiful moments, captured by my little sister - who calms me down and lifts me up more than words.
Speeches are our one real chance to speak and be heard, where and when it matters.
This is a collapse of space and time, where your most important worlds take small seconds aside, to collide - and to recognize the pure energy of a meant-to-be;
and the advisory chorus is right when they say it goes by too quickly --
but in that moment, it is a quiet everything of love and gratitude;
and that is why I will never understand when the material overrides the intangible of the day.
I've said it time and again, but: My life, in terms of trauma, is no private privileged access anymore. I'll tell you just about everything, so I'm really no fun to gossip about. However, access to my sacred good, in the form of family and friends I hold dearest to my heart - well, that - that, and I think you're something special. Thank you, all, for being that kind of special.
All photos ©Savanna B
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